


Lucky Number

by Romantic_Liar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Also he's a shitty friend, Anal Fingering, Dom Harry, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Louis loves pet names, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strangers, Sub Louis, prank call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 04:58:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12549484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romantic_Liar/pseuds/Romantic_Liar
Summary: He whines low in his throat, imagining the perfect, perfect noises this beautiful voice on the other end of the phone will be able to make and his cock grows even harder, twitching, giving him a not-so-friendly reminder that he needs to do something about it.So he throws the last glimpse of dignity out of the window and does what feels right in the moment: he begs like he’s paid to do it.Or:the one where Niall has a brilliant idea and Louis is a shitty friend, but for very valid reasons.





	Lucky Number

**Author's Note:**

> I want to dedicate this thing to Ramona, my friend and partner in crime, who politely asked me (read: forced me) to post this. If it sucks, you'll know who to blame.  
> Also to Barbara, cause this is my first work she's read and her reaction was fantastic.
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:**
> 
>  
> 
> None of this is true, and I don't own anything except for the plot.  
> Enjoy.

How Louis found himself in this situation isn’t even that much of a story.

He was having a laugh with his internet friend: they were skyping when they came up with the idea of prank calling people with the most embarrassing excuses, betting on how long it would take the poor soul to hang up on them. 

“The next one says Styles, H.” Niall, the blonde lad on Louis’ screen affirms, a serious frown imprinted in his forehead.

“What does _ H _ even stand for?”

“Herbert, Howard, something like that”

“Pretentious twat, can’t even put a photo on his online page. Or the whole name.” 

The thing, for some reason, bothers Louis. 

(He underlines that muttering a  _ “fucking idiot”  _ under his breath.)

So if he can have a little fun with an old, too-good-to-put-my-full-name-on-things asshole, then so be it. 

“Sounds like something someone named Howard would do.” 

“ _ Howard _ Styles, huh?” Louis sighs dramatically, flips his fringe out of his face. “Sounds like a boring grandpa with a passion for cheap porn, to be honest.”

“And a pretentious twat.”

“That was already established, Ni.”

Niall starts laughing then, bright and loud like only he can do, but suddenly stops in his tracks.

“Shit, Lou, you’re brilliant!” the Irish accent soaks every single syllable leaving the boy’s mouth. 

“I know Ni, but why?” Niall just laughs, the tiny crinkles by his eyes evident even through the poor resolution of Louis’ laptop screen. 

“Cheap porn, you say? Let’s give the old man what he wants.”

Louis squints in concentration, trying to understand what the fuck his friend is trying to get to. To no avail, of course. Niall’s brain functions at an incredible speed, so Louis doesn’t understand half of his ‘brilliant’ thoughts most of the time.

“Lou, it’s easy: you call him, tell him he won a trial call with this new hotline, maybe do a bit of  _ that voice _ you do when you imitate your friend Julie, ‘cause that’s hot as fuck.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be straight?”

“Hey, just take the damn compliment, Tommo!”

Louis fakes embarrassment and flutters his eyelashes at his friends, mouthing an exaggerated  _ “thank you, big boy” _ that makes the Irish lad laugh even harder.

“But Ni, seriously, that’s the most stupid idea ever.”

Niall shows him the middle finger, sighs, shows it again for good measure. 

“Got any better options?”

Louis’ tries to find something, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, but his mind comes up blank. Niall grins, the little fucker. 

“Thought so. You gonna call him or not?”

“Fine. But he won’t last more than five minutes.”

“Three, if he’s not into dudes. Two of which he’s gonna spend offending you, probably.”

 

Niall shows him the number through the screen, Louis dials it, and waits.

“H’lo?”

The man answers on the third ring and, well, that doesn’t sound like a grandpa at all. 

“Am I speaking to Mr Styles?”

“Yes. And you are..?”

The strangers sounds like he’s 25, tops, which is only four years older than Louis, and his voice is low, raspy and extremely sexy. 

 

Louis kinda wants him to hang up right now, or this prank call could become the most embarrassing thing in the history of prank calls. 

Because, well, the lad has been having a little of a dry spell lately, and the mere thought of trying to seduce a stranger with a voice as arousing as this guy is enough to make him feel  _ things _ in  _ places _ , if you know what I mean. 

Niall shoots him a questioning look through the screen, begging him to put the phone on speaker, but Louis flips him off. 

He wants to enjoy his time with ‘sexy voice Styles’ (as he subconsciously began to call him) as long as he can, without the Irish lad embarrassing him, thank you very much. 

Even if it’s only five minutes.

“Well, sir, we are a new hotline and we’re trying to.. find new customers?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?”

“Why do you phrase everything as a question?”

So, he has a sexy voice and a hell of a shitty attitude. 

The idea should _ not _ be going straight to Louis’ dick. It does, though. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I- umh.. I didn’t k-know what to say.”

“That’s not very good for a hotline, now, is it?”

“N-no. But that was supposed to be a joke.”

“Bad, bad boy, thinking you can prank innocent people. You got me really mad.”

His voice is as unimpressed as it was before, showing no signs of actually being pissed off or anything. But the guy sounds hot, and he wants to play, so it’s only fair Louis plays along.

“And what can I do to make up for it?”

He puts on the most innocent voice he can muster (and, if he were there in person, he would probably also flutter his insanely long eyelashes for good measure) and waits for an answer.

“Start by telling me your name, and we’ll go from there. It’s only fair, since you know mine and all.” 

This guy is talking to him like he’s a bloody five-years-old, and this stupid condescending tone should be getting on Louis’ last nerve, but there’s something about this stranger that makes him shiver, the idea thrilling and exciting and oh so arousing. 

“It’s Louis. And technically I only know your surname.”

Suddenly the idea of him not having his full name out and about doesn’t scream “pretentious twat” anymore. 

(Louis tries to convince himself that it’s not because this guy has the sexiest voice in the history of sexy voices.)

“Well,  _ Louis _ -” he clears his throat “-how about we make a deal?”

Niall is waving his arms and yelling at Louis through the speakers to get his attention. 

Louis just mutes the conversation.

“What kind of deal?”

“Mhm. Show me this isn’t a complete waste of my precious time and I might tell you my first name.” the smirk is evident in his voice, and Louis knows where this is going. 

Hell, at least he _ hopes _ he knows. 

And well, if Louis wasn’t getting hard before -and believe me, he was- he definitely is now. 

(Sue him, he’s a 21 year old boy with a high sex drive and not enough sexual encounters. He can’t be blamed, really.)

He squirms a bit in his seat and ends the videocall with Niall. 

He’ll explain later. 

Right now the priority is getting a hand around his dick and get off as soon as he can, possibly with the sexy stranger talking him through it on the other end of the phone, and he really doesn’t want an audience. 

(Well, not in the form of Niall through a screen, anyway.)

“How does that sound,  _ princess _ ?” 

He can’t help the high pitched squeal that rips from his throat at the nickname. 

On the other hand of the phone, Mr Styles’ grin threatens to split his face in half.  _ Bingo _ .

“G-good. Sounds good.”

“Great. Until then, you’re calling me ‘sir’, understood?”

And fuck, this is so dirty in so many different ways, getting bossed around and probably getting off with a complete stranger who won’t even tell him his first name, but right now it almost doesn’t matter. 

“Yes. Yes, s-sir.”

“Good boy. Now, show me what you got.”

And well, Louis didn’t think this far ahead (hell, he was expecting him to hang up in under five minutes) so he doesn’t really know what to do. It takes him a full minute of silence and quick breaths to muster up the courage to ask for directions, though. 

“Sir? I- What do you want me to do?”

The loud noise of something falling echoes through the line.

“Shit. Bloody book! -Sorry.”

“No problem, sir.”

Harry collects the book he accidentally knocked over, then proceeds to sit in the armchair in the corner of his room, spreading his insanely long legs. 

He knows this is gonna be fun. He just has to know how far he can push. 

“Are you alone, Louis?”

“I am.”

“Good. Then get rid of your clothes, all of them, but don’t touch.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath, sets the phone down for a moment and starts doing what he’s told. 

He wants to touch, wants to touch himself _ so _ bad and he knows he could.

Knows that if he gets far enough from the phone he can squeeze his cock and pinch his nipples just the way he wants and the guy on the other end of the line will never know, but there’s something in the tone of command that he used that makes Louis follow his instructions blindly.

“‘m ready.”

“Did you touch?”

“No, sir.”

“Good boy. Put the phone on speaker, you’re gonna need both of your hands.”

Louis sits on the edge of the bed, putting the phone on speaker and putting it next to his thigh. 

His hands are kind of shaking and his palms are sweating and for a second he thinks of backing out: he could close the call and block the number and go on with his day, forgetting about the stranger. 

But there’s something in his head that tells him to keep going, to chase his release. That in the end it’s gonna be worth it. 

“Sir?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Will you be getting off, too? W-with me?”

There’s an airy laugh through the phone. 

“Well, that depends on how good you are. Will you be able to get me hard? And,-” he makes a dramatic pause, reveling in the feeling that Louis is hanging onto his words like his life depends on them, “-will you  _ deserve _ to hear me cum?”

Louis loves a challenge. Loves working hard to have a prize.

He whines low in his throat, imagining the perfect, perfect noises this beautiful voice on the other end of the phone will be able to make and his cock grows even harder, twitching, giving him a not-so-friendly reminder that he needs to do something about it. 

So he throws the last glimpse of dignity out of the window and does what feels right in the moment: he begs like he’s paid to do it.  

“Please, sir. Gonna be good. Gonna be _ so good _ for you, promise!”

The thing is, he should feel degraded, embarrassed, but he’s never felt more content and alive than he is right now. 

Plus, if this gets him to cum sooner, it has to be done. 

“Your begging is sweet, but you gotta show me. Words are not enough.”

There’s a long pause on both sides, and Louis is  _ aching _ to touch his dick: it’s heavy between his thighs, angry red, and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna cum embarrassingly quick as soon as he gets a hand on himself. 

“You wanna touch?”

“Yes, so bad. Please, sir, I-” he shudders a little, a shiver running through his spine “I need it.”

“Have you got any toys with you, love?”

“N-no toys. Still live with me mum, don’t want her to find them.”

The voice chuckles a bit, but doesn’t comment.

“Lube?”

“Yes, sir. That I have.” 

“Good. Go grab it, put it on the bed next to you, then lay on your back, legs spread, and don’t touch until I say. Think you can do that?”

The idea of moving from that very spot on the bed sounds like an impossible task for Louis in the state that he’s in; mind hazy from the arousal and limbs feeling like jelly, but he does as he’s told anyway: he has to be a good boy,  _ needs _ to hear the moans and groans of Mr. Styles as he cums. 

“Done.”

“Very good. Now tell me, love, what do you usually do when you’re home alone and take care of yourself?”

His voice is even lower than it was before, and it sounds so good it’s messing with Louis’ brain. Like velvet and melted honey, sweet and soft and elegant but with a hint of mystery that makes Louis’ senses get wobbly and confused.

“I usually like to touch my chest and.. play w-with my nipples a bit. To get in the mood. Then-”

“Are they sensitive?”

“Very much, sir.”

“ _ God _ .”

It’s the first time he seems affected, and Louis can’t help the rush of pride inside his chest. It’s barely a whisper, but he heard, and that’s enough. 

“What do you do to them?”

“I.. Touch them gently with my fingers, first. Then I.. Twist them. Tug on them.”

“You like it when it hurts?”

“Yes.”

“Do it now. Play with them, make it hurt.”

So Louis does just that: touches all over his torso, to his collarbones to his hips and back again, making sure that the pads of his fingers brush on his nipples every time. Then he starts working them faster, expert fingers twisting the buds and making them harden, his back arching and his neglected cock spurting precum on his belly every time he pinches them  _ just right.  _

“I wanna hear you, princess. Tell me how good you’re making yourself feel.”

“It feels so good, sir. ‘M so hard. It’s like, - _ fuck _ \- like every time i touch them, the pain goes straight to my dick. Feels amazing.”

There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line, and Louis thinks that Mr. Styles is probably undressing himself. 

 

He is, indeed, doing exactly that: he gets his t-shirt off in a matter of seconds, throwing it somewhere in his small room, then shimmies out of his skinny jeans as fast as he can, dragging his briefs down with them.

He can’t believe his luck, really. 

Can’t believe how a complete stranger with the high pitched, most gorgeous voice in the world, has gone so pliant for him. How he’s willing to play this sick, twisted game, following the orders flawlessly.

“Stop touching them and reach for the lube.”

Louis whines a bit, sad that he has to stop playing with himself, but the word ‘lube’ and the unspoken promise that he’s soon gonna have a hand on himself (or, even better, inside himself), is enough to spur him into motion. He grimaces at the sight of the little drops of precum nestled in the hairs of his happy trail, then he reaches for the third drawer of the beside table, rummaging through it until he finds the half empty bottle hidden behind his socks.

“Put it on two of your fingers and reach behind yourself, but don’t put them in just yet.”

Louis complains a bit, but as soon as the voice says “I’ll guide you through it.”, he gets to work as fast as his body can move.

God, how can he be so whipped already without even knowing how this dude looks like?

He feels somewhat pathetic, so hard and leaking just with a bit of dirty talk through a fucking phone, but he’ll take what he can get, as long as he gets to cum in a reasonable amount of time. He’ll have all the time in the world for self loathing once the phone call is over, anyway. 

“Now, put one in. Just the tip, Louis, nothing more. Or I’m gonna be  _ very  _ mad. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Mr. Styles loves the power, the control. Basks in it. Adores the way this boy’s gorgeous voice shakes a little at every command. 

“Good. Now work it in and out of yourself and don’t take more until you’re told. And be loud, I want to hear your pretty little moans loud and clear, alright?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Good boy.”

 

It doesn’t feel good. It’s weird and uncomfortable and not _ full _ enough. Louis needs the whole finger, at least, and even then, he’s not sure it’s gonna suffice.

“Need more, please, Sir.”

Even as he begs, though, he keeps repeating the movement just like he’s told: it’s not good enough, but it’s better than nothing, for sure. 

“Mh, do you?”

“Yes. Please, _ please _ . N-need it. Need to feel it.”

His voice is broken and desperate, like he’s about to cry; and he probably is, considering how bad he wants to finger himself properly, how bad he needs to cum.

“You greedy little thing.” Styles murmurs through gritted teeth on the other side of the line, and for a second Louis thinks that begging was a terrible idea and that he’s gonna have blue balls as a punishment, but then he gets permission to slide the whole finger in and he’s so grateful he almost sobs. Hell, it’s still not enough, but at least he has something more to work with. 

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. So m-much.”

He works the single digit in and out of himself at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to savor every second, every brush of his skin on his walls. 

A few moans spill from his lips, tentative, but apparently loud enough to get a reaction out of the other one. 

“Jesus, has anybody told you how  _ obscene _ you sound?”

A string of ‘ _ ah, ah, ah _ ’ falls from Louis’ lips as an answer. 

“The other one. Put it in, too.”

He sounds affected, his voice soaked with urgency, like he needs to hear Louis pleasure himself, and he needs it now. 

He’s getting hard: with sounds like those, it was just a matter of time. This kid begs so good and moans so deliciously that it was an inevitable reaction, really.

 

Two fingers feel good. Very good. 

Louis scissors them and pumps them in and out fast and hard, pushing them in at different angles to find-

“Ah, fuck. Oh  _ God _ . Yes!”

He works his two fingers over his prostate over and over again, hitting it just right most of the time, goosebumps erupting on his skin from the pleasure as the other hand grips the sheets tightly, trying to ground himself, to resist the urge to wrap it around his cock and bring himself over the edge instead. 

“Fuck, sound so good, princess.” 

A loud moan comes out of Louis at the nickname, and he’s pretty sure the idea of this man getting hot and hard over him pleasuring himself shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.  

Through the phone, the unmistakable slick sound of skin on skin tells Louis that he’s being a good boy and that maybe, just maybe, he’s gonna have what he wants. 

“You touching yourself, sir?”

A sharp intake of air floods the line.

“Yes.”

“Am I - _ ah, fuck _ \- being good?”

“Yes.”

And Louis wants to ask if he’s being good enough to hear him moan, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. Not yet, anyway.

He knows good things come to those who wait, and if he keeps doing what he’s doing, his wish will be granted without having to ask. It’s just a matter of time. 

He just keeps fingering himself just the way he likes it, feeling the heat coiling in his belly and slowing down his movements every now and then when he feels like he’s getting too close. Mr. Styles didn’t say anything about it, but the fact that Louis is not allowed to cum until he’s told to is sort of an unspoken rule. 

 

“Tell me, princess. Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is a little strained as he speaks, breathing laboured from the hand working on himself as he listens to Louis fingering himself. 

Mr. Styles’ hand is working slow and teasing on his cock: long, shallow strokes just to keep the edge off without bringing himself too close. He thumbs at the head every once in a while, spreading around the precum that is inevitably leaking from the tip.

The other hand is roaming on his torso, caressing the skin, scratching it, playing with his nipples. 

“It feel so, so good, sir. So - _ ah _ \- full.”

A string of profanities and moans leaves Louis’ lips as he catches his prostate again, and Mr. Styles’ hand on his cock tightens a bit.

“B-but two fingers is not.. Not enough. Need to- need to touch my cock, please!”

The animalistic growl on the other hand of the line threatens to make Louis cum right then, so he stops his fingers altogether for a bit. He can’t risk messing up, not now that his “friend” is finally giving up the unaffected charade for good and letting his noises spill out.

“God, princess, it’s never enough for - _ oh _ \- for you?”

Styles’ dick twitches in his hand mid-question. 

“Please,” is all Louis manages to say in that moment, the need for release clouding up his brain, making it impossible to think of anything else. 

His voice is hoarse, broken from edging himself so much, from neglecting his cock for so long: he’s been hard for ages, and the low moans coming from the phone are not helping his situation in the slightest. 

“You’re not allowed to touch yourself. Want you to cum on your fingers.”

Mr. Styles’ hand on his cock is going faster now: he needs more, ‘cause the image of this ideal young man spread on a bed somewhere, covered in a thin layer of sweat, knuckles deep in his own ass just for _ him _ is carved in his brain, and teasing just won’t do anymore. 

Louis, on the other side, is writhing on the sheets, thrashing his head from side to side, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead as he whimpers. His eyes are filled with tears and he’s craving for something,  _ anything  _ as long as he gets to cum.

“You can add another, if you think it will help.”

Louis literally beams at the words and puts the third finger inside himself in a heartbeat, without lubing it up, pumping it in sync with the others without giving himself time to adjust properly. 

It hurts and burns, the stretch bordering on too much but at the same time feeling so damn good: heat is radiating through his body and the thin balance between pleasure and pain makes him feel on fire like he’s never been before. All the nerves and muscles in his body are tense, and he actually spasms as he hits his prostate again and again with each thrust of his fingers, desperate to just _ get there _ , to fall over the edge and let the waves of pleasure take over his senses. 

Mr. Styles is sure he’s dead and gone to heaven, because all those noises are going straight to his cock as he strokes it tighter, faster, his other hand going to play with his balls, rolling them and squeezing them, bringing himself that much closer.

But he doesn’t want to cum, yet. 

He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the need to hear the boy on the other side of the phone falling over the edge too strong to be ignored. 

He falls into an easy rhythm though, pumping himself just the way he likes it, expert flicks of his wrists making his balls feel a little bit tighter.

“Be a good boy, Louis, cum for me. I wanna  _ -jesus, fuck _ \- wanna hear it.”

Louis pushes his fingers deeper, grinding them bruisingly hard on his oversensitive spot.

“Come on, spill all over yourself. Make a mess for me, princess.”

The nickname does it for Louis: he tries to give a warning, but his words get stuck in his throat as he falls over the edge, his body seizing up as hot white streaks paint his tattooed chest, back arching at an unnatural angle with the force of it. He cums so hard he blacks out for a moment or two, body spent and overworked going limp against the bed. 

On the other side, Mr. Styles is in complete awe, mesmerized -and unbelievably turned on- by what he just heard. All it takes is three more strokes and a pinch to his nipple just right, and he’s spilling all over his hand, the word “princess” falling from his lips again as pleasure hits him, earth-shattering orgasm ripping through his body in full force. 

(Louis dick is too spent to get hard again, but it does give a feeble, pathetic twitch of interest at the sound.)

 

After that, comes the awkward silence. 

How do you behave with a person you’ve never seen but gave you one of the best orgasms of your entire existence?

“It’s Harry, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“My first name. Can’t believe you already forgot this was the reason we were having phone sex in the first place!” 

He gasps in mock offense.

“I shouldn’t have told you. Should’ve left you with the doubt eating at you!”

“Excuse me,  _ Harold _ , but I’m still trying to recover from a glorious orgasm. I think I’m justified if my brain isn’t exactly focused.”

Harry laughs, bright and loud, and somehow to Louis’ ears the sound is even more addictive than his moans. 

“Well, if you put it like that, I might forgive you for this mortal insult.”

Louis chuckles lightly on the other side of the line.

“Plus, my name’s not short for Harold, ‘s just Harry!”

“Whatever, Harold. Gotta go now, clean myself up a bit before me mum comes home and finds me covered in my own cum.”

“That would be quite unfortunate.”

“Well, so..” Louis clears his throat a bit. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Oh, believe me, it was my pleasure.”

“Take care,  _ sir. _ ”

“See you, princess.”

 

It was weird, and very hot, and a one time thing. 

(If Louis saves Harry’s number in his contacts just in case, no one has to know. 

Well, except for Niall. The poor lad deserves an explanation anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed and English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes let me know, so I can fix them.


End file.
